


Sunrise//Beautiful

by afeverxlongingstill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Porn, just porn, ummm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afeverxlongingstill/pseuds/afeverxlongingstill
Summary: i will be converting the roleplay/s that lead up to this but it is going to take some time - i also am aware i need to update "En Faire Tout Un Fromage" but i just am not yet. i am sorry, but i haven't abandoned it - it's just really difficult for me to keep one of the parties anonymous; if you couldn't tell i am a fan of detail asdfjkldfjkfg. song title taken from a song by Taku which you can find on youtubeanyways i hope you enjoy this??please let me know, i love it when you do





	1. Chapter 1

The past few days had been painstakingly lonely. Jo went off in the middle of the night on a hunt, out of the blue and against his better judgement. Initially he had argued that he wasn’t going to let her go alone, which she hadn’t taken well and then? The whole thing dissolved into slamming doors and side eye glaring.

Most nights one of them had traversed the small home in the darkness, in search of comfort after harrowing dreams - he can’t count the times he’s been told to move over on the small couch. Nor can he guess at how many times he’s slipped under her blankets in the predawn hours - sometimes solely out of habit despite whether he’d had a bad dream or not.

She’d called a while ago, finally. ‘Where are you,’ he’d demanded. ‘I’ll be home soon,’ she’d supplied before hanging up. He’d nearly ripped the phone in half before slamming it into the cradle. Socked toes curl against the tile in the kitchen as he finishes chopping the last of the potatoes.

As he bends into a cabinet, knees creaking the rear door handle jiggles - she is home. Earlier than he estimated. 

Setting the cast iron pot on the range he turns, hands on his hips, trying to look put off. “Hey,” Even though he is pissed, he is glad to see she’s okay, “Did you have fun proving yourself?” Jo gives him a look that says more than it should - he’d become comfortable gauging her reactions and now was not the time.

When she moves into the kitchen, peering into the half done meal of fries and grilled cheese he immediately feels embarrassed. Like he’s been up to something he shouldn’t be although he knows, logically that it isn’t. He tried to help pull his weight around here in the past months and begrudgingly poured her coffee in the mornings, but this was the first time he’d gone out of his way to cook something by himself. He’d felt? Like she’d deserved a little reciprocation.

“I, um-” He turns, facing the counter with her, hand dragging against the back of his head. “I wanted to have it ready but,” He shrugs as an end to his sentence, fingers tucking into the pockets of his jeans. “Sorry,” Despite his earlier resolve to be angry he produces a small, pursed smile.

The apology leaves him feeling hollow - lacking. “Look,” Lucifer side eyes her - embarrassed, “About the other night-” Words die out and for a moment they sit in silence, the occasional drip of the faucet into the basin the only rhythmic disruption. Even though he has decided to apologize for his behavior, the words do not come easy this time. “I was worried.”

As he turns to face her she grips at the fastened snaps of his flannel and his brows raise. He isn’t confused, he recognizes this four am look in her eyes, but he is surprised. Had he done something? A chorus of snaps resound and as Jo tugs the over shirt around his shoulders he is quick to close the distance between their lips.

Lucifer doesn’t know if it’s leftover, unspent adrenaline from the hunt or not, but her lips are hot against his own - bruising. He isn’t complaining, he enjoys the rougher side of Joanna that she lets seep out on occasion, but as he frees himself from the over shirt his hands grip the sides of her face - steadying. “Isn’t it a little-” Sucking in a lungful of air his tongue glides along his lower lip - tasting. “A little, uh, sunlight-y for this?” A thumb drifts against her cheek, fingers readjusting in blonde, “Not that I’m complaining, I just-” Thought that you hated me, “Fuck it.”

When their lips meet again there is a fervency there that he hasn’t even seen from her in their early morning meet ups - what was this? Her hands fist into the hem of his undershirt and he barely has time to duck out of it before she begins backpedaling them both. Nails dig into his back, crisscrossing marks she’d left a week ago and he hisses around her name, “Joanna.”

His back hits the bedroom door and one of his hands leaves the gentle curve of her ass, fiddling against the doorknob. Their combined weight and desperate motions make it impossible and craning around her, he grips under the rounds of her bottom, lifting her. Legs circle him - instinctual at this point - and he hikes her up higher, taking a moment to look at her through cascading tendrils.

Fingers dig into the nape of his neck and he slams her against the door, teeth digging into the fabric of her undershirt - when the fuck had she ditched the flannel? “Little witch,” He rumbles before moving them enough to finally get the door open. She gyrates against his navel as he steps over the threshold and is greeted with a scent that is intensely Jo. Floral and sweet but the undertone of him lingers somehow - wading underneath.

Legs release and he lets her down slowly, mouth pressing against her own as she is in range again. As her feet touch the ground he drags trimmed nails against her back, pulling fabric up. Her teeth come down on his bottom lip and he moans into her mouth, breaking apart to rid her of the bastard undershirt. Hands are on his belt, unfastening and before he can help rid himself of denim, they fly to his neck - squeezing.

Teeth grate, jaws clenching as he is shoved backwards onto the mattress and her hand returns to his throat. Teeth drag against his lip before his mouth falls open into a soft half o shape. Naturally she was a pretty bold person, but this was a first and? He liked it. Reaching out he grasps blonde, tugging her mouth down to his - suddenly starving for her.

The button to his pants falls open, the zipper stringing carefully along and he sucks in a bated breath - anticipating the sensation. “Jo,” It is barely a whisper as he struggles to steady his breathing and he looks up at her with awe - what was she doing to him? He already knew that he held some kind of allegiance with her, but the circumstances kind of dictated such a relationship. But this? Whatever was happening between them this evening? He didn’t know what it was - wasn’t sure if he wanted to either.

Her hand grips around him firmly, pushing denim away and he can feel the throb of readiness - what kind of Pavlovian bullshit had she pulled on him? Lucifer drags hands and nails down the expanse of her back and he bucks against her hold on him, managing to get into a half seated position even with her fingers digging into his windpipe.

He isn’t sure how or when she’s gotten her pants off but when he manages a look between them, eyes following the hand leaving his neck, she is tugging lacy panties to the side and lining him up. Breath catches at the familiar feeling of her. Slick and warm and velvet around him as she makes her way down - slowly, tortuously. Craning against her his mouth comes down on the see through fabric of her bra, tongue rolling and wet. Teeth come down around a lace nipple, moaning around it as they are finally flush.

Jo stills and so does he, forehead pressing against her breastbone. A thigh trembles, body ecstatic and flush with endorphins, “I missed you.” It is a low whisper against flesh - something he doesn’t want to admit, “You asshole.”

Eyes search hers for a moment, both of them feeling the weight of what’s been let out but, she - a mastermind - breaks the tension, hand returning to the hollow of his throat, pressing him back down into the mattress. Hands grip into her hips before she swats them away and he instantly protests, quick to snatch up her wrists.

Bringing their arms around her back he grips tightly, hips angling off of the mattress. Jo rocks against him, creating friction and the back of his head digs into the mattress, “Damn you.” Heels dig into flooring as he thrusts in time against her, “Fuck,” He manages through his teeth.

Shifting one of her wrists into the possession of his other palm he brings a thumb pad to his mouth - wetting. Fingers splay against her hip for stability as his thumb finds a spot he has become intimately familiar with over the past three months. If she was going to introduce breath play as a new and exciting way to push him over the edge, he wouldn’t be the only one going - or coming.

Thrusts become shallower as he tugs down on her wrists, leaving little room for moving - or bouncing. “Come on baby,” This was the only room that endearment had even been spoken in but the way that it falls out is almost too easy - comfortable. She grinds against his thumb and he gyrates, moaning.

Jo manages to break a hand free and before he can chase after it she’s leaning back and cupping his balls - massaging. “Fuck,” It is a hoarse exclamation as he can feel the familiar embers of orgasm stoke. Thumb moves erratic and he stills his hips for a moment, grinning up at her annoyed expression.

Tongue and teeth drag over his bottom lip as he feels her thighs begin to jolt against him. Mentally he recites the alphabet in Enochian, needing to stall impending release - he wants to get her off before the inevitable pull out because neither of them had grabbed any kind of protection thus far. He makes it through five mental recitals before he feels the familiar quaking that he enjoys _so_ much and, hoping to spur her on he thrusts hard and quick, grinning against the sharp slap of flesh.

She lurches forward and he happily releases his hold on her, both of her palms spread against his chest for balance as his hands fly to her rear, lifting. He can feel the spurt of hot come dispense in three long pulses and he moves to sit up - hands moving to her lower back. Lips move against the hollow of her shoulder and he laughs through his nose at the dripping come stain on the opposite wall.

“We made a mess.” Jo shifts in his arms, peeking over her shoulder and they share a laugh before quieting. He is hunching slightly against her and, raising a finger to adjust blonde curtains, he looks up at her - admiring. Arms slink around his neck and their mouths meet slowly, softly before they pull away, both headed for the mattress.

Normally at this point they’d sleep, having gotten rid of the lingering nightmares and coursing adrenaline but now? He felt awkward, as if he shouldn’t be in here. “I, um- I should-” He moves to rise but a palm against his chest, pressing, brings him back down. “Okay,” He says as she forms against him, head pressing into the dip of his collar. Lips press against her forehead and he repeats quietly, “Okay.”


	2. Hesitate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess going through my old posts has me wanting to add more to this hhhh  
> all my human lucifer/jo trash will be here from now on ??
> 
> enjoy - this is a short drabble based on a meme - can't remember the prompt though, sorry  
> chapter title taken from a song by Emerson Leif & Golden Vessel called Hesitate, it is on youtube

Eyes fly open into the darkness, immediately flying to the wall clock he can barely make out in the pale moonlight. Three thirty, “Great.” The blanket rustles as he stirs, “Right on time.” Feet pad across the floor, hip bumping against the half wall as he rubs at his eyes. “Dang it,” He keeps his groggy voice low, “Every night.”

Bending into the basin of the sink he turns the tap on, drinking from the faucet. A palm skirts down his face when he is done and he leans back against the counter top, palms lipping the edge - half asleep. It’s been like this for the past week and a half. Every night at three thirty - nightmares or not - he wakes up. Some nights it had proven beneficial. Most nights, though, it had been a nuisance.

Fumbling into the bathroom blindly he isn’t even sure that he is awake and, he’s pretty certain, he’s just let out at least one half snore. Lucifer makes use of the facilities in much the same fashion - a hand splayed on the wall for support and eyes sewn shut with fatigue. Before he can flush or deal with the lid - which she’s ingrained in him to put down after finishing - he hears the familiar kick of heels against foot board.

All at once he is fighting to be awake, gripping the door frame for a brief moment before he can move - eyes opening widely in an effort to chase away lingering sleep. He doesn’t knock - he knows he doesn’t have to, not at this hour. Not under these circumstances. The bed covers are misshapen but they aren’t clean off the bed - so far this one seemed easier than the nightmare four days ago.

Carefully he pulls the covers away from the empty side - a side that he realizes is steadily becoming his - and slides in. “Hey,” He warns, voice gentle as he glides across the expanse of the mattress to her distressing form. Sometimes it is easy to rouse her but others? She’d given him at least one shiner in the past six months.

“Jo,” He tries ineffectively. Placing a hand on her shoulder he attempts louder, “Joanna.” She sucks in a sharp, startled breath but instantly turns to face him - grasping. “Hey,” She crashes into him and he is happy to pull her in - tight, “Hey, it’s okay.” This does nothing to calm her, as it usually does but he understands. “Hellhounds again?” There are no magical words to make this go away. Not anymore.

Lucifer isn’t sure how long they lie intertwined, knuckles smoothing across hair and fingers tracing calming, slow patterns. And he certainly doesn’t know which one of them nods off first, but when he opens his eyes again it is daylight. He lies on his back, faced with the ceiling before his head falls to the side - searching.

An arm drapes over his midsection under the sheet and the other supports her head and she looks down on him. “Morning,” His voice croaks laden with sleep and he manages a small, to the side half smile as he finds her hand under the covers. The way she is staring at him has his brows coming together, “What?”

Silence hangs for a second and instantly he is nervous, “Look if this is because I left the seat up last night, I heard you fussi-” Lips cut him off, familiar although they lack the fervency he has come to expect from their interactions. “Jo,” He tries to slink back to get a grip on the situation but she chases the distance and he can’t help but reciprocate the slow, lazy motions.

Time lapses as fingers drift, palms exploring - he could get lost here, in this place. It is serene. But, as she pulls away he suddenly feels as if he has been struck in the chest and his lungs ache. He doesn’t mean for his expression to be so readable but all of his defenses are useless against this assault.

Her voice is gentle against the dawning hours, "Why are you so sad?"

“Because,” The sallow pit of exclusion settles in his stomach and he knows, without a doubt that it is warranted. He has missed out on a great deal in this life. The things he has experienced - the muted, watery emotions he’s felt? All at once he realizes that it isn’t enough. “No one has ever kissed me like that before-” His mouth hangs open, hinging - he doesn’t want to elaborate but his lips move despite what little resolve he clings to, “And I almost feel loved again.”


End file.
